


Terrified of These Four Walls

by mithrel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blanket Permission, Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Marking, Podfic Welcome, Possessive Behavior, Scent Kink, Sharing a Bed, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:32:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/pseuds/mithrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek and Stiles are transported to a house in the middle of nowhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terrified of These Four Walls

They don’t know how it happens. One minute he’s floating in a pool with Derek a dead weight around his neck and a Psychotic Lizard of Death stalking him, the next the water is hot, Derek’s supporting himself, and they seem to be somewhere else entirely.

Predictably, he loses his footing and goes under until Derek hauls him up again, sputtering. “Shh!” he hisses at him.

He shoves him down with a growled “Stay here!” and gets out of the hot tub.

Stiles debates that for approximately three-tenths of a second before following him.

Derek glares, but in the end just puts a finger to his lips with raised eyebrows, as if to say _Can you actually be quiet?_ Stiles nods indignantly, though he’s not sure himself. Certainly he’s not as quiet as Mr. Ninja Werewolf.

Derek eases open the sliding glass door to the house nearby and slips inside. Stiles trails after him.

The room they emerge into is thickly carpeted, with a fireplace and several loveseats. There’s a kitchen directly next to it, but Derek ignores that in favor of the hallway.

There are several rooms leading off the hallway. Derek spares a glance into each before entering the one at the end of the hall.

“No one’s here,” Derek says when Stiles comes in behind him, but Stiles barely hears him.

It’s a bedroom, but not _just_ a bedroom. There’s only one bed, but it looks like it’s big enough for four people. There’s an old-style wooden dresser with a mirror on one side of the room and not much else.

It’s just then that he becomes aware that he’s cold and dripping wet. He glances in the closet, because any port in a storm, but there are no clothes in it. He heads to the bathroom, thinking maybe he can at least shower.

But there’s no shower in the bathroom. Instead there’s a sunken bathtub almost as big as the Jacuzzi outside. Stiles blinks, but then notices that there’s robes hanging on the back of the door. He strips off his sodden clothes, puts the green one on and snags the other for Derek.

Derek looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Well, you’ve certainly made yourself at home.”

Stiles flushes, but counters, “Like you said, there’s no one here. And maybe werewolves don’t mind sitting around in their wet clothes until they dry, but I do!”

Derek rolls his eyes, but takes the other bathrobe and disappears into the bathroom.

Stiles’ cell phone is on the edge of the Beacon Hills High School Pool, unless the lizard-thing ate it. He’s not putting anything past it. And Derek’s is probably dead of chlorine poisoning, assuming he had it on him.

He goes through the house to see if there’s a land line, but phones are conspicuous only in their absence. Of course there’s no computers either. That lets out emailing his dad to let him know where he is. Not that he, you know, _knows_ where he is.

He turns around when Derek comes back out of the bathroom, dressed in a royal blue bathrobe and nothing else. He looks like some combination of Tarzan and that guy who does the Dos Equis commercials. Stiles knows he probably looks like a combination of Gumby and Shaggy from Scooby Doo. Yet another way his life is not fair.

“There’s no phones. No computer either.”

“You’re kidding.”

Stiles motions sarcastically to the rest of the house. Derek performs his own inspection, stops in the last room and says, “Well, crap.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Derek finds the front door and goes outside. Stiles trails him, and stops in his tracks for the second time that evening.

There’s nothing outside the house. Literally _nothing_ but dirt as far as the eye can see.

“Shit.”

Derek turns to him, one corner of his mouth tugging up. “My thoughts exactly.”

Stiles glares at him and stomps back inside.

It’s then he almost falls over with exhaustion. The adrenaline’s wearing off, finally, and not even his ADHD is enough to keep him going.

Derek sees him slump, darts a look at the loveseats, then asks, “Where are we going to sleep?”

Stiles blinks, then realizes what he means. The loveseats aren’t long enough for either of them to sleep on, and he’s seen for himself there’s only one bed.

“I guess one of us will have to sleep on the floor.” No way is he suggesting they sleep in the same bed. That’s wrong for so many reasons.

Derek nods, finds some blankets in a closet and dumps them on the bedroom floor, then tosses a pillow from the bed after it.

Stiles would protest his arrangement of the bedding, but he’s too tired. Instead he falls onto it and just as quickly falls asleep.

***

The next day, Derek insists on going out “exploring.”

“Explore what?” Stiles demands, waving an arm at the empty landscape. “You can see all the nothing from here!”

Derek ignores him and leaves Stiles alone in the creepily empty house, with nothing to distract him from his ever-growing paranoia and worry about his dad.

Derek doesn’t get back until sunset. By then, Stiles has remade the bed on the floor, spent time in the hot tub, investigated the fridge (mostly finger foods, some bread and cheese and a lot of booze) and all the cabinets and drawers (soup, chili and instant noodles in the kitchen, and he’s not even thinking about what he found in the bottom dresser drawer in the bedroom) and almost worn a hole in the floor with his pacing.

“Well?” he asks sarcastically as Derek enters, “Did you magically find a means of escape?”

Derek just scowls at him and goes to rummage in the fridge. “There’s no meat,” he complains.

Stiles rolls his eyes.

***

Derek doesn’t go out until early afternoon the next day, and then only because glares and snarling didn’t stop Stiles’ litany of “So who do you think brought us here?” and “Where do you think we are?” and “They must be worried about us.”

He thinks it’s that last that bugged him the most, but, fire or not, Derek does have people who care about him. Isaac, Erica and Boyd are probably worried about him, if only because they don’t know how to handle full moons yet.

He knows his dad is probably going crazy, and Scott too. It makes him feel guilty–they both have enough to deal with with the giant lizard running around killing people.

So when he gets back Stiles doesn’t comment.

***

By the third day, they’ve settled into a routine. They switch off between the floor and the bed and at some point during the day Derek goes out, probably more for something to do than because he expects to find something.

But Stiles has been thinking about this house. The hot tub and huge bathtub. The finger foods and single bed. The lube, condoms and…other things he found in the drawers. No one has communicated with them since they got here, but he can’t help thinking that what they’re supposed to do is pretty clear.

When Derek returns in late afternoon Stiles decides to bring it up.

Not that he knows how to broach the subject. And because he’s who he is, he ends up flat-out blurting it out.

“So I can’t help but notice there’s a certain…theme to this place,” he says hesitantly.

Derek raises his eyebrow at him as if to say _What the hell are you talking about?_

Which starts the babbling. “I mean, the huge bed and the hot tub and stuff, it just seems like we’re supposed to…I mean it doesn’t seem like we’ll be getting out of here any time soon…”

Now the eyebrow says _Get on with it!_

“Ithinkweshouldhavesex,” Stiles says in a rush, then wants to bang his head against the wall.

And Derek _stares_ at him. Not an “I-can’t-believe-you-just-said-that” stare, or even an “Are-you- _crazy?!_ ” stare, but an “I-understand-all-the-words-you-said-but-it-still-makes-no-sense” stare.

He keeps staring until Stiles slinks off.

***

He figures that’s the end of that conversation, so to say he’s confused when the bed dips in the middle of the night, waking him up, is an understatement.

And when Derek pulls his underwear down the confusion turns to shock.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“What you suggested,” Derek says, like he doesn’t see why Stiles is freaking out.

 _Just like that?_ Stiles thinks, his brain-to-mouth filter thankfully working for once.

Of course, then Derek takes hold of his cock and any attempt at control flies out the window.

Part of him is embarrassed at the noises he starts making, but the rest is too busy going _Ohmygod._

It doesn’t help that Stiles is…not exactly experienced in the sex department. Most girls don’t want anything to do with a geeky spazz.

So it’s kind of pathetic, the way he reacts, arching up into Derek’s hand and whimpering.

He can’t see in the dim light, but he just _knows_ the bastard is smirking.

Stiles finally just closes his eyes and fists his hands in the bedding, pressing his lips together to try to keep quiet. That doesn’t last long though; he has to open his mouth or asphyxiate.

He doesn’t last long either–just a couple minutes before he’s gasping and coming all over Derek’s hand.

It takes him a few moments to recover, but then he rolls over and returns the favor.

And it’s not fair, since _Derek_ doesn’t lose his composure at all. His breath hitches a little, but that’s all.

It would be a huge blow to his ego, except when he comes Derek slams his head into the pillow and groans out “Ohhh fuck!” low and long, and now Stiles is going to have that replaying in his head. Shit.

But they’re still there. It didn’t work. Double shit.

“So, uh…” Stiles starts.

Derek just snorts and goes back to the floor.

***

Derek doesn’t go out the next day. Or rather, he starts to, but comes right back in and drags Stiles outside.

There’s a road in front of the house. No cars on it, just a road stretching from horizon to horizon.

“Well this is a big help,” Derek says sarcastically. He stays in the house that day.

***

That night it’s Derek’s turn to take the bed, but he lies down, then bolts upright again. “You take the bed,” he tells Stiles.

“What? I thought we were switching off? It’s your turn,” Stiles protests.

“You. Take. The bed,” Derek repeats, and okay, Stiles never argues with anyone with fangs.

But he can’t sleep that night. He refrains from tossing and turning, because Derek will hear, but he can’t help remembering last night. And it was a stupid idea, it didn’t work, but now he’s obsessing, obsessing about how Derek sounded when he came, the way he touched him, and this is not good, not good at all.

But sometime during the night it comes to him. It can’t be a coincidence that the street appeared the day after they…well, he’s not sure what they did. But that wasn’t sex, at least not technically, so maybe it wasn’t enough.

He huffs an exasperated breath at the ceiling and rolls over.

***

Derek shouldn’t have done it. He knows he shouldn’t have done it. Stiles is just a kid and it was a stupid idea and exactly what the hell did he think he was _doing?_

He’s on the floor, for the second night in a row, because as soon as he lay down in the bed he was assaulted by the scents of sweat and come, _Stiles’_ sweat and come, mingled with his own, and he can’t deal with that.

It must have been because he can’t _do_ anything, stuck in this house for five days now with no idea why they’re here or how to get out and his pack’s first full moon only a couple weeks away.

It was desperation.

Nothing else.

***

He doesn’t want to bring up sex again–for several reasons–but it’s not likely the road appearing was a coincidence, so what they did was obviously a step in the right direction.

So he bites the bullet.

“It seems like we changed something when we…you know.”

So much for biting the bullet.

Derek gives him a long hard look, then nods.

“So maybe we should…go further?” Dammit, that wasn’t supposed to be a question!

Derek considers a moment, then says, “Blowjobs?”

Stiles coughs, then nods. “Yeah, OK.”

***

Stiles is nervous this time. He hadn’t had time to be, before, but this time he knows what’s coming (no pun intended). Plus it’s a step up from last time.

Derek must be able to smell it on him, because he says, “Relax.”

“I haven’t exactly…done this before.” Stiles confesses.

Derek huffs a laugh. “I’d be surprised if you had. Don’t worry about it.”

“So who’s going first?” Stiles asks, sure he’s never had a more awkward conversation in his life, including when he was four and had to tell his cousin Emma he ate the last cookie, the one her mom promised her.

Derek shrugs, but then scoots down the bed and pulls Stiles’ briefs off. And, OK, he thought he’d prepared himself for this, but Derek’s mouth is a very different thing from Derek’s hand.

He tries to keep his hips still and can’t. Derek doesn’t seem to mind though, riding out his motions, doing things with his tongue that Stiles isn’t sure are physically possible.

His hands drop to tug at Derek’s hair and Derek growls warningly. Stiles gasps, partly from fear and partly from the vibrations the growl causes, and fists his hands in the sheets instead.

After a moment, though, he puts his hands back, more gently, and kind of cards them through Derek’s hair. Derek growls again, but it’s softer and has a pleased sound to it.

So Stiles ends up stroking the hair above Derek’s ears while he sucks him off, which is beyond bizarre, but he’s too busy writhing and gasping to care.

When Derek pulls back suddenly and licks him, Stiles groans and comes, and he probably pulls Derek’s hair again, he doesn’t know.

Derek pulls off, licks his lips, and, because he’s Derek, smirks.

Suddenly Stiles' nerves seize him again, as Derek eases down his boxers.

“Relax,” Derek says.”It’s not that different from going down on a girl.”

Which might be of some help if Stiles had, you know, actually done _that_ before either.

So he takes a deep breath and puts Derek’s cock in his mouth.

It’s weird. Not bad weird, more _whoa-so-this-is-a-thing_ weird. He almost gags a couple of times before he figures it out but then he starts breathing through his nose and gets into a rhythm.

Derek hadn’t been very responsive before but he is being now. It might be that Stiles is better at giving head than handjobs (which he frankly doubts), or maybe Derek is being considerate of his nervousness (which he also doubts). But Derek’s breath is hitching and he’s making these little whiny noises that are totally out of character for him and it’s a pretty damn good boost to his ego.

And then Derek grabs hold of his shoulder and yanks him off and to the side right before he comes.

They just lie there for awhile before Stiles ventures “So…was I any good?”

Derek’s eyes widen and he coughs, rolls his eyes, and, when Stiles glares at him, sighs and says, “Yeah, you were fine.”

Derek gets up and Stiles assumes he’s going to go to the bed on the floor, even though it’s not his turn, but he disappears and when he comes back his stomach is clean.

So Stiles moves to get up, but Derek yanks him down with an arm around his waist. He makes an undignified noise like “Eep!” or “Ack!” or something. Derek pulls him up against him, says, “No point in switching off now,” and seems to go immediately to sleep.

***

Derek wakes up in the middle of the night with an octopus clinging to him. He opens his eyes and realizes that it’s Stiles, who’s turned over and glommed onto him like one of those suction cup stuffed animals people put on their car windows.

He tries to get loose, but Stiles makes a dissatisfied noise and clings tighter, so he just rolls his eyes and endures it.

Not that it’s really that bad. Comparatively speaking that is. It’s better than when he got shot in the arm, and better than getting attacked by his uncle. But it’s not like he’s enjoying it.

Stiles’ smell is really strong like this, and Derek closes his eyes and breathes it in, sweat and shampoo and nervous energy. He falls asleep with it in his nose.

***

Their surroundings have changed again the next morning. There are houses around, to either side and across the street. It’s strangely quiet, though.

“It’s Saturday, shouldn’t there be people around?” Stiles asks.

Derek shrugs. “Stay here.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, because he’s getting tired of the overprotectiveness.

Derek leaps the fence to the house next door and a moment later he’s on the porch roof and opening an upstairs window.

“What is it with werewolves and their lack of a sense of privacy?” he mutters. Does it have something to do with being raised in a pack? Or does it come along with the lycanthropy: fangs, claws and a disregard for personal boundaries?

A few minutes later Derek’s back. “House is empty.”

“Couldn’t you just have, I don’t know, _knocked on the door?_ ”

“They might have been hostile,” Derek replies, and Stiles gives up.

Apparently all the houses are empty, as they find after checking them. This just gets weirder and weirder.

***

Derek’s surprised–and kinda worried–how quickly he gets used to sleeping next to Stiles. He hasn’t had much human contact–well, _positive_ human contact–since his family died, and it’s only now that he realizes he’s missed it.

He always makes sure that he’s out of bed before Stiles wakes up, registering the change in his pulse and respiration, since this is already awkward enough.

One night, when he’s sure Stiles is deeply asleep, he buries his head in the crook of Stiles’ shoulder, where his scent is stronger, and inhales. Stiles stirs and Derek freezes, but after a minute he starts breathing evenly again and Derek relaxes.

He waits a few minutes and then dares to press a kiss to Stiles’ neck.

He smiles in his sleep, and Derek almost smiles too, but then he breathes _Lydia._

Derek’s reaction is as instinctive as it is unfortunate. He jerks back, violently, shoving Stiles away from him.

So they both end up on the floor.

“Dude, what the _hell_ is your problem?!” Stiles demands as he picks himself up.

“Nothing!” Derek snarls.

“Yeah whatever, come back to bed.”

Derek doesn’t. He picks up the discarded pile of bedding on the floor and heads for the living room, ignoring Stiles’ continued questions.

***

Derek’s gone when Stiles gets out of the bedroom. To say he’s confused is an understatement. Things had been going well, especially considering that they were stuck here, but then Derek suddenly shut down on him.

He sighs and goes back to bed. It feels colder than usual.

When Derek’s not back when he gets up the next morning, he really starts to worry.

***

Derek intended to sleep in the living room, but his wolf was restless, so he ended up wandering around the empty houses all night, Stiles’ whisper of _Lydia_ echoing in his head. He knew Stiles had a crush on her, it shouldn’t be affecting him like this. It’s not like any of this would even be happening if they weren’t stuck in this bizarre situation.

At dawn he climbs in a window and falls asleep in an empty bed.

***

Derek doesn’t get back until sunset.

“Are you–?”

“I’m fine!” Derek snaps and Stiles doesn’t say anything else.

When he heads for bed Derek doesn’t follow him.

***

Derek starts wandering around the neighborhood again. Since he’s out so much he notices it changing. First the fences and windows disappear, then the doors and the sidewalks leading up to them. After that the houses themselves vanish, leaving just the sidewalk and the street, then just the dirt they started with.

He doesn’t care, except with the houses gone it leaves him less to explore and less excuse to stay out.

***

_He’s dreaming. He doesn’t know how he knows it–it might have something to do with Lydia sitting on the next loveseat over._

_“Well, you’ve made a mess of this, haven’t you?”_

_“Hey, I’ve been doing my best!” Arguing with himself. That’s healthy, right?_

_Lydia rolls her eyes. “You have everything you need to figure it out.”_

_“What, what’s wrong with Derek?” he blurts without thinking._

_“And how to get out of here. You figured it out weeks ago, so why are you still here?”_

_“I–wait, what?”_

_But she just snorts and disappears. Great. She’s a superior bitch even in his dreams._

***

When he wakes up though, he starts thinking. He’s always had a crush on Lydia, and if he had one dream about her he could have had more than one.

Scott’s complained to him that he talks in his sleep, and God knows what he might have said…if he did it would certainly explain Derek’s reaction…and if he didn’t, well…they need to make up anyway.

Derek’s asleep on the floor, and if he’d thought about it, maybe he’d have realized it’s not the smartest idea to sneak up on a paranoid werewolf, but he’s focused on _fixing_ this.

So he hauls Derek up and kisses him.

And Derek throws him across the room.

Again.

Only this time he hits the edge of a coffee table.

“OW, fu-uck!”

Before he can move, Derek’s next to him. “Shit, sorry, are you OK?”

Stiles glares at him. “That would be a ‘no.’”

“Can you move your fingers?”

“Uh, yeah, I didn’t hit _them._ ”

“Shut up, I’m trying to see if there’s any spinal damage. How about your toes?”

After about five minutes of moving various parts of his body, Derek finally lets him sit up.

“Take off your shirt.”

“Dude, _what?_ ”

“Take. Off. Your. Shirt. Or I’ll do it for you.”

Stiles gulps at that, ignoring the flare of arousal, and takes off his shirt.

Derek runs his hands over his back and Stiles bites his lip to keep from whimpering. From, you know, the pain.

“You’re gonna have a huge bruise, but you’re fine,” Derek says, getting up and hauling him to his feet.

_Ow! Yeah, sure, fine._

***

Derek never brings up the kiss, which is weird, but on the other hand things are back to…well, not _normal._ Nothing about his life in the past six months can be called “normal,” least of all this.

But Derek’s sleeping in the same room as him, not using the bed because “Your back’s fucked up, you need it,” never mind that he’d certified him “fine” a few days ago, and never mind that the bed’s more than big enough for both of them.

Still, he supposes that’s something.

When he can move without gritting his teeth, though, it gets annoying, so one night he hauls Derek down into bed with him, and he actually goes, which Stiles guesses means he doesn’t mind.

***

When Stiles wakes up, he’s wrapped around Derek.

And he’s hard.

So of course he scrambles away, and of course Derek wakes up.

He must smell it on him or something, because he smirks, then sighs. “Relax. You got some morning wood, it’s not a big thing.”

“Is that a sizeist comment?”

Derek snorts. “No. Calm down, it’ll go away.”

He hesitates, uncharacteristically, then adds, “Unless you don’t want it to.”

Stiles may have done a fish-impression, because _what?_

“Or I could help you make it go away.” This said with a smirk, but still with that odd vulnerability underneath it.

“If–” Stiles’ voice cracks, and he coughs, swallows. “If you want to.”

The smirk is a full-on predatory grin now. “Oh, I want to.”

But then Derek kisses him, and, dude, he didn’t get to appreciate it before, what with the whole flying-into-a-coffee-table thing, but he’s an awesome kisser. Like, _awesome._

Stiles moans into his mouth and kisses him back, grabbing Derek’s shoulders and pulling him closer.

Derek’s hands go down to grab his ass and Stiles breaks the kiss to squeak. Derek chuckles, low and dirty, and buries his face in Stiles’ shoulder, taking a deep breath.

“Oh, that is _not_ fair,” Stiles complains as he goes into a full-body shiver.

“You smell good,” Derek mumbles into his shoulder, then licks him, and _hello,_ new kink.

Stiles dares to sneak his hands around Derek’s waist, suddenly bashful despite what they’ve done before. This is different.

Derek makes an approving noise and dips his fingers into Stiles’ ass-crack.

Stiles flinches away and ends up grinding up against Derek, who groans.

And he could deal with that, could totally just do this until they end up getting off, but he wants _more._

So when Derek grabs his ass again he doesn’t flinch away.

And when he runs a finger across him he gasps and pushes back.

“What do you want?” He’s thankful to hear that Derek’s breathless.

“Fuck me.”

Derek closes his eyes and breathes in sharp through his nose, then asks, “You sure?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, grinding into him for emphasis. “Yeah, I’m _sure!_ ”

“You ever done this before?”

Stiles hesitates. “No. Like, not ever.”

Derek actually looks surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Stiles mumbles, blushing. He’s only sixteen, it’s not that unusual, is it?

But then Derek’s eyes flash red and he’s giving him a bruising kiss, so maybe being a virgin isn’t such a bad thing.

He pulls away after a few moments, and when Stiles clutches at him he chuckles and says, “Just a sec.”

Apparently Derek found the condoms and lube in the dresser at some point, since he opens the bottom drawer and grabs them, then comes back to bed.

“Relax,” he says, like that’s even physically possible with Derek Hale looming over you and pouring lube into his hand.

He doesn’t push into him right away like Stiles expected, just circles a finger around until Stiles is wriggling in sexual frustration.

“Ohmy _God,_ just _do_ it already!”

Derek smirks, adds more lube and slides his finger in up to the second knuckle.

Stiles groans, pulls away, shifts forward, then just sits there and pants.

Derek waits a second, pulls out, adds more lube and pushes his finger in all the way.

Stiles makes a sound like, “Nngh,” or “Gnnuh,” prompting Derek to ask, “You OK?”

“Fine, God, can’t you _tell_ I’m OK?”

“Just making sure.”

Derek crooks his finger a couple of times, making Stiles twitch, then he hits something that makes him go “ _aaaah!_ ”

Derek grins again, and Stiles is really glad that he’s so sour normally, because he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to see that expression again without getting turned on.

Two fingers is more uncomfortable, but Derek takes his time (Stiles is surprised he’s being so patient) and when he makes a small noise he licks behind his ear and whispers “Relax,” then starts rubbing over that spot until Stiles figures he’s about to lose it.

And then Derek bites his earlobe gently and he does, arching his back and coming all over Derek’s hand and arm.

As soon as he’s finished the babbling kicks in. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean–”

Derek pulls his fingers out and kisses him softly. “It’s OK.

“You still want me to fuck you?”

Stiles closes his eyes at the words, and if he hadn’t just come that’d get him hard again. “Yeah.”

“OK.”

By the time Derek has stretched him enough to actually do it (and Stiles feels a brief stab of terror at the thought) he’s hard again.

The good thing about being with a werewolf is he doesn’t have to tell him if it hurts. He’s not sure if Derek’s reading pheromones or pulse or muscle tension or something else completely, but every time it’s too much he stops before Stiles even opens his mouth, sucking and licking at his neck until he relaxes.

When he’s flush against Stiles and they’re breathing the same air though, he asks again “You OK?”

Stiles breathes deep, smelling Derek’s sweat. “Yeah, I’m…just give me a sec.”

Derek nods and waits until Stiles runs his fingers over his back before pulling out and slowly thrusting in again.

It’s good, more than good, but he doesn’t need to see Derek’s lip between his teeth to know he’s holding back.

“Harder.”

Derek stops mid-thrust. “You sure?”

“ _Yes,_ dammit, I’ll tell you if it’s too much!”

So Derek starts fucking him harder, and Stiles can tell he’s still holding back, but his eyes are closed and little spasms are twitching across his face.

Then Derek hits that spot again and Stiles closes his own eyes, scratching over Derek’s back, which makes him growl and thrust in even harder.

And Stiles comes again, splattering all over Derek’s stomach.

Derek’s eyes go red again and he growls louder, biting at Stiles’ shoulder, and he can’t even care because Derek’s coming inside him.

Derek doesn’t fall on top of him, thankfully, since he doesn’t want his epitaph to read “Squashed by a Werewolf,” but he does pull out of him, which sucks.

The endorphins are wearing off now and his shoulder is starting to hurt. He pokes at it frantically, but Derek didn’t break the skin, so he relaxes. Some.

“Dude. What the _fuck?_ "

Derek opens his eyes, looks at his shoulder, shrugs and says simply, “Mine!”

And Stiles realizes he’s cool with that.

***

Stiles wakes up when Derek moves away from him.

“What?” he mumbles into his pillow.

“Traffic.”

“Oh,” Stiles says and rolls over.

Derek shakes him. “Stiles. There’s _traffic_ outside. Which means _people._ ”

That wakes him up. “You sure?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Werewolf, remember? Enhanced hearing.”

Stiles scrambles out of bed and gets dressed.

When they go outside, sure enough, there’s traffic on the road, and a few people walking by.

“Hey, I think I recognize this street,” Stiles says.

Derek gives him a Look. “You couldn’t have told me that a week ago?”

“It looked different with no people!” Stiles says defensively. “It’s only a couple miles from Beacon Hills High.”

***

“Hi, ma’am,” Stiles says a half-hour later after he’s come up with a story to tell his dad. “My car broke down, can I use your phone?”

The elderly lady at the door smiles at him. “Why, of course you can!” she says and lets him in, as Stiles thanks his luck that he got a nice old lady and someone not likely to ask about cell phones.

He comes out after the _extremely long_ phone call to find Derek waiting for him.

Stiles fidgets, then finally says, “So, uh…we gonna just go back to you shoving me into walls now?”

Derek snorts and runs a hand over his shoulder. “I said you were mine and I meant it.”

Stiles grins.


End file.
